Scorch of Light
by Ramzes
Summary: King Baelor's return from Dorne is greeted with wild joy but soon enough, his peculiarities start reaping pain. Part 8 of the Daenaera Velaryon series.


**Scorch of Light**

The gold cloaks had trouble holding the excited crowd away; curses and angry yells echoed everywhere as the smallfolk pushed close to the harbour, dangerously close to the members of the court. More than one of Daenaera's ladies gasped in dismay, their shawls to their mouths. Daena wrinkled her nose but to her mother's delight, she didn't give any sign that she was disgusted by her subjects. Daenaera had been scared that in her blind adoration of her father, she would start emulating Aegon's reticence to win his people's live but she did nothing of the sort. Daenaera told this much to Viserys who shrugged. "Aegon was quite popular with the crowds when we were children," he said. "And our mother _was_ the Realm's Delight. I think Daena has inherited more than her fair share of charm."

She tried to imagine an Aegon beloved by the smallfolk and failed.

The pressing by the crowd increased. A huge roar erupted when a small dot appeared on the horizon. It grew larger, parting the still shivering mists over the sea. Daenaera's elation grew with each wave the vessel cut. Without thinking, she reached for Viserys' hand and squeezed it, smiling at him. He smiled back. They had waited so long for this moment, Baelor's return from the Dornish hell…

"Do you think there will be any Dornishmen with them?" Elaena asked curiously. "I'd like to see a Dornishman."

"So will I," Daeron agreed. "They say Dornishmen aren't exactly like people."

The Queen Mother and the King's Hand looked at each other again, having been landed in reality. There would be much work to be done if that peace of Baelor's was to be upheld. If even children like Elaena and Daeron, completely lacking in malice, could be so carelessly denigrating, how could the court accept the Dornish princess who was about to come in six short years?

"You have seen Dornishmen and women," Naerys reminded both children. "The hostages."

Daenaera looked at her gratefully because she couldn't force herself to say that Dornish people were not beasts and savages. The pain of the loss they had inflicted on her was still too raw.

"It isn't the same at all," Daeron objected. "The hostages could not be themselves because they feared us and besides…"

What was that besides remained unknown because at this moment, the King appeared and Daeron's words were drown in the new roar that was sure to rouse those of the Seven who were still sleeping.

Daenaera's breath hitched. For a long, terrible moment she couldn't recognize which of the two young men was which. Both Baelor and Aemon were shockingly thin and papery white. Their garments flapped around them. Even from this distance, she could see the haunted look in their eyes.

The crowd went silent and in the short time it took to walk over to her son, Daenaera realized that Viserys had been right in wanting the arrival to be a private one.

As eager as she was to see Baelor close and make sure that he was truly fine, that he would not collapse right now and die like Daeron, Daenaera fell behind. She was no longer the first lady of the land.

The gold cloaks brought their pikes down and cleared a path for the Queen. Aemon made a deep bow. Baelor smiled in welcome but avoided Daena's open arms and instead placed a small kiss on her cheek. "Sister," he said. "I am happy that the Seven let me see you."

Daenaera could say that it was so and yet not quite. Her joy at seeing him here, alive, finally, was dampened by the foreboding of something sinister. The light in his eyes at the mentioning of the Seven scared her like the eyes of the regents once had. The eyes of the regents when they had imposed their will upon Aegon by giving Rhaena away to the Hightower…

* * *

Daena's voice came to her as she crossed the antechamber. "Do you want me to turn the lamp down a little?"

Baelor's reply was too soft to be heard but when Daenaera opened the door and made her way to the royal bed, the lamp at the bedside was burning as bright as possible. Her son slept on his other side, his face away from the light.

"Extinguish it," Daenaera said mechanically.

"I won't," Daena snapped. "He said he had no special wishes, didn't he? If so, I'm leaving the lamp burn."

Daenaera sighed. Baelor's still delicate health was her main worry those days but she could not blame Daena for her increasing exasperation. All attempts her daughter made at getting close to Baelor were rebuffed. He never wanted anything, hated to disturb anyone in the least. Daenaera's heart broke for Daena in whom she recognized her own young self, always pushed away by her king, hoping against hope…

"I'll stay with him for tonight," she said. "You may go and have some rest."

The girl looked at her gratefully. "I suppose Rhaena will come to relieve you at some point," she said. "She seems very good at sitting here and holding his hand. It soothes him, it seems. I… I cannot…"

"And you ought not be able to," Daenaera said. Her daughters were just vastly different creatures. Rhaena loved peace and quiet, Daena couldn't stand them. Daena was growing into an astoundingly lovely woman who could hold the attention of any crowd with her vivacity – but that same vivacity made her bad at providing peace and comfort to those who needed it. Of course, that was only part of the reason for her irritation. Baelor was actively rejecting her and the girl couldn't understand why. There was no way for her not to feel insulted and humiliated. For the life of her, Daenaera couldn't understand the reason either! Baelor had not known the suffering his father had. It was all in his head, in some place where Daenaera couldn't see.

Daena's lip quivered. "Why, Mother?" she asked. "Why is he this way?"

Daenaera placed a hand over her daughter's hair but she had no answer to give.

"A vault," Baelor gasped and Daenaera looked at Daena, a question in her eyes.

The young Queen shrugged. "I have no idea," she said. "He's been saying that since I came. It can't be anything this important, right?"

"No," her mother agreed. "It can't be."

* * *

"What?"

The silver looking-glass crashed on the floor as Daenaera whirled about, horror and disbelief coursing all through her.

"Baelor intends to do… what?"

The short man drew back and even waved his arms in panic, as if he was scared that the Queen Dowager would attack him bodily. "Your Grace, I am only relaying what I heard, I…"

But Daenaera was no longer listening. She was striding in the hallway with her hair half made and her morning robe tied haphazardly . The Kindsguard at her door almost had to run to catch up with her. Only two of her ladies dared follow.

With Aegon, she would have looked for him in the hall of the Small Council; for Daeron , she would have gone straight for the armoury. Now, her instinct told her where to find Baelor and surely enough, he was kneeling in the royal sept. The echo of her footsteps made him look up. His big purple eyes went with some disfavor over his mother's slovenly attire.

"Is it true?" Daenaera asked, panting from almost running all the way. "Do you intend to throw your sisters in prison?"

He slowly rose, his lips pursed. "I dislike the word _prison_," he announced. "I am building them a comfortable new home where they're going to live in luxury…"

"A new home!" she repeated. "Why, for the Mother's sake? They do have a home! Daena is even your wife! Your Queen!"

"Not for long," he replied as softly as her voice was shrill. "The marriage will be dissolved. It was never consummated anyway."

Daenaera gaped at him, stunned. He took advantage of her temporary silence and went on, hurriedly, "They're too beautiful for their own good, Lady Mother. Beautiful women are always at risk of displeasing the Seven by letting men feast on their flesh and giving free run to sinful desires. This way, their innocence will be preserved and the Seven will look upon them with favour."

Finally, Daenaera regained her speech. "Are you mad?" she screamed. Aemon caught her eye and shook his head, ever so slightly, to warn her into silence but she ignored him. At this moment, she wouldn't have cared if the Kingsguard seized her and threw her into the black cells for insulting the King! "Feasting on their flesh? Sinful desires? What kind of life do you have in mind for them? They aren't disfigured, or born into a family with too many mouths to feed. They are princesses, not fucking septas!"

Baelor flinched at his mother's profanity but the light in his eyes did not go away, no. It even intensified. "I am doing this for their own good, Lady Mother," he said. "One day, they will understand the Seven's will."

"The Seven's will?" she screeched. "Your will, you mean. Who appointed you the Seven's speaker anyway? You _are_ mad!"

Now, two septons had appeared, drawn by her shouts. One of them blushed and looked uncomfortably away; the other started practically ogled her. Daenaera ignored both. "You cannot do this!" she yelled. "I won't let you. For the gods' sake, Baelor, hear me out: you're being irrational. You want their purity preserved? Appoint some new ladies to them. Have them go to the sept every day. But don't go this far. There's no need of seclusion, none!"

The scent of the candles suffocated her and the glow in her son's eyes terrified her. When he opened his mouth, his voice was as soft as ever, "Cover yourself, Lady Mother. Please. It's beyond indecent."

"Is that so? What you're planning to do, that's indecent. I will not stand for it, do you hear me!"

But he had already turned his back on her, leaning over some drawing a new septon had brought him. Enraged, Daenaera went to him, seized his arm and shook but he paid her no mind.

Suddenly discouraged and very, very cold, she went for the door to leave the sept amont two rows of gaping courtiers who had run over to see the clash that was already whispered about in the Red Keep. Daenaera looked down, throwing her hair over one shoulder, and went straight ahead, not looking at anyone, not minding that half of the court was looking at her broken and disheveled state. Baelor would not be dissuaded. Her girls would spend years, years behind closed doors in the heart of the Red Keep. No man's caress, no flirtations, no leaving their prison. The very idea of it spread a heavy mist before her eyes, mist as grey as bright Baelor's misguided faith was.

"Go away. Now!"

Naerys' gentle voice held such fury that the surprise was enough to break through her haze and she looked around to see the crowd dispersing. Gentle hands wrapped her in a cloak. A hand took her by the arm. Soft whisper guided her all the way to her chambers where she collapsed on the settee among the panicked cries of her attendants.


End file.
